


this is the worthwhile fight

by shafferthefirst



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Baby Fic, Birth, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Multiple Timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 07:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14587929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shafferthefirst/pseuds/shafferthefirst
Summary: “Our daughter will never see a sunrise, or a meadow, or a waterfall in the midst of a hike. She will never see fireflies, or sit under a shady tree, or look at our baby pictures with her grandparents, or find out she got a scholarship to her dream school, or visit a zoo or aquarium and beg for useless souvenirs on a family holiday. How selfish are we, to give her a life that isn’t one at all?”-Or, FitzSimmons meet their daughter, in one timeline and another.





	this is the worthwhile fight

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing a thing but it kind of went nowhere, and then I was talking to Laura about a name I like for FitzSimmons' daughter, and she gave me a lyric that I should title a fic about her, and then I wrote a thing and sandwiched that other thing in the middle of it when I was supposed to be writing something else altogether.
> 
> Unbeta'd because Laura was busy and I was too excited to wait.
> 
> Title is from "State of Grace" by Taylor Swift.

**_The Lighthouse_ **

 

She is born surrounded by rubble and starlight.

 

The lighthouse med bay is ruefully understaffed, Jemma more or less being the lead until her swollen stomach prevents her from reaching across the wounded. Even after, she gives directions to anyone who has elected to step up in her place.

 

She trusts them to follow her orders, but when the time comes where she truly needs assistance, they are the absolute last on her mind.

 

“Do you think,” she murmurs against Fitz’s chest, after her grip on his bicep loosens in time with the pressure in her back, “that we are incredibly selfish to bring a child into this mess?”

 

“Jem, we’ve discussed this,” he thumbs a wayward tear from her cheek.

 

“Our daughter will never see a sunrise,” her voice catches, “or a meadow, or a waterfall in the midst of a hike. She will never see fireflies, or sit under a shady tree, or look at our baby pictures with her grandparents, or find out she got a scholarship to her dream school, or visit a zoo or aquarium and beg for useless souvenirs on a family holiday.” Jemma chokes back a sob. “How selfish are we, to give her a life that isn’t one at all?”

 

Fitz adjust his position next to her on the narrow bed of their quarters, so that he is still supporting the heavy weight of her stomach as she lays on her side, but he can also frame her face with both of this hands.

 

“Our daughter,” he says, “will learn to fly a spaceship.”

 

Jemma shakes her head, the corner of her lip quirking up.

 

“She will tinker with whatever scrap metal we can find, and build something small, but effective, to help one of the neighbors lighten their load. She’ll dance around the hallways with no music until everyone else joins her, just to pass the time. She’ll have a front row seat to watch meteor showers and comets passing from out this window here, and learn to chart the stars as well as you do, so that she’ll _always_ find her way back to us.”

 

He bumps her sweaty forehead with his, brushing their noses together. “She may not have the life we wish we could give her, but she will _live,_ and breathe and learn and have hope that one day, things will be good again.”

 

Lip quivering, she buries her face in his neck, placing a light kiss to the soft skin there. “She’s going to be so _good,_ Fitz.”

 

“Of course,” he tells her. “Because she is _ours.”_

 

She nods in agreement, before inhaling sharply, her abdomen tensing up again. She lets out a low whimper, clutching his t-shirt in her fist. They sit for hours and through more of these moments, timing the ones in between, before she whispers, “Get May.”

 

Fitz presses his lips to her forehead, breathing her in, before helping her roll to her back. He rolls up the blankets and stacks them behind her to give her something to brace herself against, and leaves to find the older agent, waiting on stand-by.

 

When he leaves, she places her palms against the bump ballooning under her shirt, feeling the kicks that have grown stronger beneath her skin over the past few weeks.

 

“Hi, love,” Jemma whispers. “This isn’t what we wanted for you, god, it isn’t anywhere _close,_ ” she wipes at the corner of her eye, breath laboring through the latest contraction. “But I promise you, my darling girl, we will do _everything_ to make it right for you. Despite the circumstances, you are surrounded by _so much_ love you can’t even begin to comprehend it, and you always will be, no matter what. I want you to carry that love with you, keep it in your heart, and give a some to everyone you meet. You are going to be loved, and brilliant, and _so,_ so brave. Just hold on to that love, and have hope. That’s how we’re going to beat the odds, alright? That’s what this family does.”

 

She presses gently against the spot where the baby’s foot should be, and lets out a watery laugh when she feels pressure back a beat later. “See? You’re getting it already.”

 

Fitz returns with May not long after, carrying supplies. Time seems to speed up from this point on as they move into position, with Fitz squeezing her hand at her side, holding back her leg that isn’t propped against the hard metal bed frame, and May coaching her on when to breathe and when to push.

 

“You’re doing great, Jemma! She’s almost here.” May states, her calm energy balancing them out as she rubs at Jemma’s thigh. “I need you to focus, and give me one more big push.”

 

“You can do this,” Fitz says, lips against her temple, when she cries out. She turns to look at him, eyes swollen and tired, and he tips his forehead into hers. “You can do anything. I love you. You can do this.”

 

Jemma nods, scrunching up her face and releases another shout, as she forces herself to push one last time before she collapses against him.

 

“I’ve got her,” May sighs in relief, smiling, as a high wail suddenly fills the small bunk.

 

“You hear that?” Fitz mumbles against her hair. When she lifts her head to face him, she sees that he’s crying, with the widest smile on his face she’s ever seen. There’s no doubt that her grin matches his.

 

The cry grows louder as May lays the baby on Jemma’s chest, covering them both with a blanket, and Jemma feels as though her heart is going to burst. Her lower lip quivers as she counts ten fingers within two clenched fists, the tiny body squirming with newfound and unexpected freedom against her.

 

The look on Fitz’s face as he studies their daughter sends a shiver down her spine, and she lets out a light chuckle when she realizes he is counting her ten little toes. When they lock eyes he surges forward and kisses her with everything he has.

 

When they break from smiling far too much, they peer down at the baby simultaneously. Jemma bobs her head down and presses two kisses to the crown of the baby’s head.

 

“Grace,” she says softly, and Fitz nods.

 

“Grace she is.”

 

She is born surrounded by rubble and starlight, with fragments of a world she will never explore orbiting just outside the glass.

 

—

 

**_Perthshire, Scotland_ **

 

She is born again surrounded by warmth and sunlight.

 

She is nearly born in the passenger seat of their car, from Jemma’s insistence that they need not rush, not wanting to spend potentially twenty-something hours stuck in a hospital bed, to Fitz leaving the go-bag on the front porch in a haze to help her into the car, and having to turn around a third of the way there. The whole ordeal is so ridiculous and spectacularly domestic that she finds herself laughing hysterically, of all things, at the center of it.

 

But after only a handful hours of labor and ice chips and a blissfully effective epidural, they find themselves curled in the narrow bed together, taking turns counting wiggling toes and peeling back the tiny knitted cap to press kisses to the thin curls atop their daughter’s head, until they allow a nurse to place her in the bassinet, after which they fall asleep immediately.

 

When a shrill cry startles her awake some time later, Jemma feels as though she’s somehow been sleeping for both fifteen hours and only three minutes. But given the ache in her back and the exhaustion in her bones, it is safe to assume the latter.

 

Before she can shift more than a centimeter, however, a warm palm against her thigh in the low light of their recovery suite halts her movements. “Is’okay, I’ll go.” She hums gratefully in response, pulling the blanket over her ear to muffle the piercing sound.

 

The crying stops, and she begins to drift off again to the sound of Fitz murmuring, his voice low and raspy with sleep—or lack thereof—but whatever he’s attempted only delays the inevitable for a few minutes. When another wail breaks the silence, she sighs heavily and heaves herself up to lean back against the pillows.

 

Fitz rubs at his eye with the palm of his free hand as he moves back over to the bed. He passes the bundle over, unable to fight the soft grin appearing when Jemma’s whole face seems to light up as she takes their newborn daughter in her arms. The baby’s cries shift to quieter whimpers as she holds her close.

 

“Hi there, sweetheart,” she whispers, kissing the top of her head before arranging her atop the boppy Fitz places in her lap for support. She latches on greedily after only a moment of fussing.

 

“Grace,” he whispers, winding an arm around her back and the other under the baby.

 

Jemma smiles fondly, nodding. “Grace she is.”

 

Even long after breaking the loop and preventing the destruction of the Earth, they’d elected not to learn their daughter’s name from Deke—who, interestingly enough, stuck around after all—just in case. However, the glassy eyes and shortness of breath from their grandson’s visit earlier when they announced her name, was enough to tell them they had chosen well.

 

As the room falls silent, save for Grace’s noises of contentment as she suckles, Jemma tips her head against her husband’s shoulder.

 

“What do you think she’ll do?” she asks honestly.

 

Fitz ponders this for a moment, studies his daughter’s face, and glances back up at Jemma.

 

“Maybe she’ll be an astronomer. Or a marine biologist. Or an olympic gymnast.” She raises an eyebrow up at the last one, and he shrugs. “She could be, it’s up to her. Whatever her heart desires,” he licks his lips, grinning before he even gets the words out, “the choice is absolutely and only hers. We made sure of that, didn’t we?”

 

Soft sunlight catches Jemma’s eye at the same time. She squints at the window, and a smile blooms on her face as she notices the sun of a new day just beginning to rise outside.

 

“We did.”

 

She is born again surrounded by warmth and sunlight, with a whole world of infinite possibilities, just outside the glass.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to throw things my way on tumbr, @ jemmaswan!


End file.
